There is a reason the question, 'Can you rub my feet?', gets the same reaction out of most that Al Bundy exhibited when asked to give his wife a tooshy rub. For me, I would much rather deal with the topics of brain worms, rare tropical diseases, even the urethra loving insects that were discussed on the eco challenge, than contemplate touching the feet of someone who just gotten home and was in need of a relaxing foot rub.
On another note, I don't think one would ever hear feet used in a pick up line. "Hey baby, want to look at my feet?" It just doesn't work.
The past two weeks have been a nightmare for the engineering side of my brain. I work for one of those large cell phone making companies and recently my boss when on a little hiatus. The lovely part of all of this was, those of us on the team found out maybe two days before he was actually leaving and we were in the middle of a release cycle. Needless to say, there was a lack of information passing that had occurred.
Yours truly stepped up to bat, or rather insisted, that I would fill in for the meetings. To my annoyance, that worked out to be about about five hours of meetings a week, but because of a void in knowledge (from our group to others), it was more like fifteen to twenty hours a week of my time. There is nothing like having to shore up messes, figure out what is going on, and passing that information to others. In short, I tried to get things to a point that I would be comfortable with, myself.
Somehow, in the processes of all of this, people actually liked getting information and the mediocre organization that I managed to eek out. My boss, is now my former boss. And in the words of Eric Cartman, philosopher, I've been given 'Authoritah'. I'm not sure if I like this or not. I've been dealing with the dregs, where are my damn bennies.
Right now my car is in the shop. It has been there since the beginning of the week getting some cosmetic work done. Not wanting to indulge the side of me that desires to put Type-R stickers, speed springs, and the like, it is simply getting some dents and dings fixed. It will be a shiny happy car upon its return.
To fill my commuting needs, I have been bicycling. Work is about nine miles and a couple hundred feet of elevation change from my house. The ride in is nice, peaceful, and along back roads. However, due to meetings and the like, the riding also takes place at 6am. As much of a morning person as I have become, there is an inherent laziness present.
This morning, I stopped by the bus station to see if there would be room on the bus up (it only has two spots for bikes). There was none. A good portion of the ride in to work was taken up by an internal debate of getting to the bus stop earlier in order to take a spot. This would be pretty selfish, and in some sense mean. I can do the ride, it is easy, and th people waiting for the bus aren't in the same shape. But still, the temptation is there. The look of dejection and annoyance as you grab someones spot, forcing them to possibly be late made some sense on the ride up here, but I know I couldn't do it. Instead, I get to revel in the looks of shock and horror as I wander around barefoot, my feet having been encased in biking shoes, as the stench of wafts through the building (or not, as the case may be).